


Currently Untitled

by SundayMorningMusings



Category: Eventual smut - Fandom, Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), loki smut - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SundayMorningMusings/pseuds/SundayMorningMusings





	Currently Untitled

“Wow!! What a great movie!” you exclaim, your hand finding Bradley’s as you exit the stale movie theatre. It is a cool fall evening—the kind where the air feels as crisp as the fallen leaves below your feet, “I wonder if it will snow tonight?”, you ‘huhhh’ into the air to see your breath.  
“Yeah, it was alright, I guess” he replies half-heartedly.  
“You guess? It was a great opener for the cinematic universe!”  
“Please, you only liked it so much because of that loser Luki”  
Shivering now, you roll your eyes impatiently as he fumbles to find the keys in his pocket, “it’s Loki, hurry up Bradley! I’m freezing here”, huhhhh-ing into your hands now.  
“Freezing like the frost giant?”  
“Ugh, get over yourself. You don’t see me harping on you for looking at Black Widow in a skin-tight Kevlar suit, do you? Open the doooorrrrrrrrr”  
“The difference is, I don’t find her attractive. I only have eyes for you. She looks like my Aunt Jennie” he finally manages to get the car unlocked and you both clamber in.  
“You’re such a liar. You can’t say EVERY hot girl out there looks like some family member. I bought it when we first started dating but now it’s just ridiculous”  
“I see you’re not denying my statements”, he circles the conversation back, refusing to drop it. He starts the car, cranks the heat and puts it in reverse, “I don’t see what you like about him anyway. He’s literally not even the bad guy of the movie, he’s a little bitch who gets his ass kicked so many times and is being whipped by aliens”  
“Can we just go home, please? Why are you making such a big deal about this? It’s a movie. It’s fiction. The guy isn’t real. The aliens aren’t real. It. Is. Fiction.”  
“Fine”  
“Whatever”

The remainder of the drive home is a quiet one, as is the bedtime routine. You barely make eye contact as you brush your teeth together, and instead of him going to bed with you, you hear him go downstairs and that telling ‘ding’ of his gaming machine turning on follows. You sigh, disappointed at yet another evening gone to waste over a pointless fight. You considering journaling it but shrug it off. There is nothing left to say, and there is no point in documenting yet another irrational, unnecessary argument. You climb under the covers and look to your left, his spot cold and empty, “just like my place in his heart” you murmur as you open your MacBook and throw on the same crime documentary you’ve fallen asleep to for the last week and a half. Cozying in for the night knowing you won’t be sharing the sheets with Bradley any hour near, you quickly drift off.  
_________________________________

You’re in the middle of a street, surrounded by rubble and ruin. “Midgardians! I am your ruler now! Thor is dead”, he holds up a bodyless head by it’s luscious golden locks, now matted with blood, eyes soulless and mouth agape, “the Avengers have retreated, you are all mine”. The decapitated head disappears with a green flash of light. The room begins to panic. “Now, I consider myself a merciful monarch”, he stalks towards the crowd, “I only ask one thing from my subjects”, another magical glow and a helmet appears atop his head, a staff in his hand, “submission”. His green eyes lock with yours and suddenly there is the tip of a razor thin blade centimeters from your cornea. Everyone is gone, you are surrounded by darkness—it is just you, him, and the blade closing the distance to your eye. “What say you, girl? Will you devote yourself to me? A pretty thing such as yourself would please my men well”. His weapon drops. You try to speak but find your mouth unable to move; your anxiety builds, “I can’t hear you, darling”. Your hands claw at your throat, your trachea constricts, and you feel a pressuring building in your lungs. “SPEAK, WENCH”. Tears well as you try to scream, and you collapse to your knees. As your world goes numb, your chest feels like it’s going to explode, your eyes bulging, your body desperate for oxygen, he raises his scepter. You are blinded by a green flash. You’re back in your bed. Sweating, you sit up and place a hand on your throat, gently massaging, “it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream” you chant to yourself. A dim red light fills the dark room, 5:47am. It’s almost time to get up for work and Bradley is still not beside you. Running your hands through your dampened hair, you decide to have a shower and get on with your morning routine. “It was just a dream” you repeat, unable to shake the rooted feeling it was something more. Throwing the covers off of you and placing your feet on the cold floor, your lumbar spine tingles, “it was just a dream”.


End file.
